Dark Corners
by LolaVerdigris
Summary: They met in dark corners. Not on purpose. Not at first...Light Gelphie Fluff.


_Author's Note_ : Here's a short fluffy gelphie dedicated to Gabaa101 who gave me the prompt for this short.

* * *

They met in dark corners. Not on purpose. Not at first.

At their first mandatory Shiz soiree, Elphaba found it impossible to sit and listen to the conservative propaganda against Animal rights propped behind flimsy poetry and forced prose. So she slinked to a narrow staircase two hallways down, past the kitchen and completely out of sight from Horrible Morrible. Sitting on the stairs, she opened a biology book, loaned to her by Dr. Dillamond, and read. She got half-way and planned to finish the rest at the next soiree. Except, the following week, her staircase was occupied: Galinda sat there with a book of her own.

 _She reads!_

Her roommate told that horde of nitwit girls that followed her everywhere—on several occasions and loud enough so Elphaba could hear—that she didn't, not ever. A girl who reads in public damages—no, practically _ruins_ all chances of marriage.

"Considering life as a maunt?" Elphaba asked.

Galinda flinched.

"Did you follow me?"

Elphaba crossed her arms.

"If you went far away, the last thing I would do is go looking for you."

Galinda glared before she gazed back down.

"Scoot over," Elphaba said.

"Get your own staircase," Galinda replied without looking up.

Annoyed that Galinda hadn't moved and even more annoyed that she had to spend the evening with a roommate who ignored her in private and avoided her in public—instead of finding another corner or climbing to the stairs above—Elphaba plopped right beside Galinda, shoulder to shoulder.

"Oou!" Galinda blurted, misty blue eyes twitching. Turning her back to Elphaba, Galinda continued to read, as if determined not to cede, not even an inch. Elphaba couldn't back down now. It would indicate defeat. So she sat there, uncomfortably, for little over an hour, not saying a word, the fluttering of pages the only noise between them.

The next soiree, Elphaba smiled: her staircase was blonde-free. But she couldn't get five pages in, before she gasped. Her roommate squished beside her unannounced. Elphaba pretended not to mind the intrusion—for that's what Galinda must have wanted, a rise out of her. Instead, Elphaba looked earnestly at the sentences in her book, sentences that had become nothing but squiggly lines.

It became her soiree routine. Sitting next to her roommate was better than standing in front of Miss Morrible. At least that's what Elphaba told herself. And they were _her_ stairs after all. If anyone should move, it was Galinda. But Galinda apparently felt the same. Because each gathering, they sat: side by side, thigh by thigh, breath by breath, and read. Well, Galinda might have read; Elphaba could barely finish a sentence. It was the smell of the blonde's strawberry shampoo, the fresh powder on her skin, the way Galinda's hand on her knee would on occasion slide down and brush hers, the way Galinda's skirt fell down her thigh to reveal an inappropriate amount of flesh, promising other hidden mysteries.

Months of mandatory soirees passed.

 _October_

Galinda suggests they lean against one another, back to back: for posture's sake.

 _November_

Galinda mistakenly curls a stray lock of her black hair around her pink finger. "You know," the blonde says. "I bet you'd look pretty with this down."

 _December_

Elphaba forgets—just this once—to braid her hair. Galinda smiles and mumbles into her shoulder, "As I suspected."

 _January_

Galinda complains about the lighting on her side of the stairs, pointing to the wall lantern on Elphaba's side. Elphaba considers switching places, but Galinda's quicker. She lays on her back, knees bent, head on Elphaba's lap, book propped above her face. Is she blushing? Elphaba holds her book with two hands to avoid resting any fingers on Galinda.

 _February_

With Galinda's head on Elphaba's lap as usual, Galinda turns on her side to face Elphaba's stomach, a stomach that is knotting as Galinda starts tracing shapes on her thigh. She should ask Galinda what's she's doing. She should ask her to stop, but the tingles in her leg make sentences impossible.

 _March_

Galinda's tracing grows bolder. Her fingers move up the side of her glute. Elphaba must bite the inside of her cheek to keep from whimpering. It's as if Galinda's trying to seduce her. Impossible. For pick-up lines, and dates, and flowers, and chocolates, and whispered sweet nothings, and warm breathless touches are what girls like Galinda receive. To Ozians, Elphaba is sexless: having neither desire nor beauty.

 _April_

Galinda's hand moves from her glute, over to the base of her ribs, over further still until she's massaging Elphaba's belly, in a soft, deliberate way that makes Elphaba feel a sharp excitement in the tips of her breasts and between her thighs.

 _May_

"Galinda?" the transfer student asked, as if his eyes deceived him. Galinda's hand stopped. She stood and flung her book at Elphaba before she faced the boy who came around the corner. The book's spine hit Elphaba's knuckles. She grit her teeth against the twinge of pain, having half a mind to throw it back. But, instead, Elphaba closed their books, ignoring the sting in her fingers and stood behind her roommate.

"Fiyero! I thought you were at the soiree?" Galinda said, a new feverish high pitch to her voice.

"It ended early. What are you doing here with _her_?" Fiyero asked.

How in Oz would Galinda explain this? She still didn't greet her in public. Who could imagine Galinda spent her soiree evenings draped across _her_ lap? Massaging her bottom and inching ever closer to her breasts.

"Hiding. From Dr. Dillamond," Galinda lied. "He's been wanting to talk to me about my last essay, and then Elphaba tried to make me read that dreadful old book." Galinda turned to Elphaba, raising her nose. "Please bore a friend with that nonsense…that is if you have any!"

Galinda's mouth ordered, but her eyes pleaded. They begged Elphaba to play along. Elphaba could tell Fiyero the truth, but the truth was embarrassing. It hurt more than Elphaba expected. It wasn't like their evenings meant anything. It wasn't like anything had changed. It wasn't like _they_ were friends. Not really. So she said nothing. Gripping their books to her chest, Elphaba straightened her shoulders, and walked down the stairs, past her roommate, past the Prince, retreating to their dormitory.

Once she closed the bedroom door behind her, she flung the books onto her desk with such force that Galinda's book slid off and onto the floor. It's pages sprawled and folded in on themselves liked used tissues. The tightness in her chest was unrelenting. She loosened the top buttons of her dress. When did this happen? When did she start finding an imaginary intimacy in Galinda's boredom? Elphaba didn't have fantasies. She had books. Books she hadn't been reading with any interest for more than a few weeks if she were honest. Whenever she tried, shapes would arise in Elphaba's mind, Galinda's shapes, falling on shades of green.

Even Dr. Dillamond had begun to notice the change in her. "Are you alright Elphaba?" he asked. She didn't know how to answer. How does one explain that she felt her body in ways she didn't know possible. She felt alive in a way that even science couldn't touch. A tender touch she hadn't even known to anticipate. For who would ever romance a vegetable? Especially Galinda Upland of the Upper Uplands who had the attention of every boy at Shiz. But what was in a touch? It wasn't romance, it wasn't honesty, it wasn't much. But, that nothing _much_ had made Elphaba skip to the library, hum to herself, and even giggle—out loud. She didn't know what these soiree evenings were to her roommate. They never discussed them. Elphaba was sure Galinda preferred it that way: a dark thrill tucked safely out of sight, safely behind a corner.

She looked at Galinda's book. It didn't deserve to be abused. No matter the callous words of its owner. She picked it up, a volume on designs for stained-glass windows, and straightened out the pages and was about to set it on Galinda's desk when she spotted a letter on the floor. A pink lined paper folded in half. It must have fallen out of the book. She should have slipped it back in. Elphaba knew the value of privacy, but tonight she didn't feel very valuable. Opening it, she read:

A Little Uncomplicated Hymn

for You

is what I wanted to write.

There _was_ such a song!

A song for your knee bones,

a song for your ribs,

those delicate trees that bury your heart;

A song for your black leather boots,

your fiery-red voice

your twenty green fingers

the incessant humming you start

and never quite finish;

your poster-perfect cheekbones

the hidden expressions in your face,

a song for your cackle

that keeps wiggling an ax in my sleep

I look for an uncomplicated hymn

but love has none.

Elphaba's breath stopped. Galinda had written it for her, obviously. And written it quite well. But what to make of that bit at the end? Could Galinda really mean it? Could Galinda Upland (of the Upper Uplands) love her? Elphaba sighed. Even if Galinda did love her, her love didn't outweigh her shame. The shame she felt in Elphaba's presence. Still, the fact that Galinda wrote poems about her made Elphaba feel silly, buoyant, dizzy. Who knew that the path to Elphaba Thropp's heart was so easy?

"Galinda Upland you make a fool out of me," she hissed and planted the letter back inside the book and set it on Galinda's vanity table.

. . .

Despite the rumors, Fiyero was bland. Shenshen claimed he was an exotic, exciting, extroverted man-hunk. The only thing extroverted about the Winkie Prince were his hands, which being neither exotic nor exciting, extended under the table and up Galinda's thighs—no matter how Galinda pushed them away. She had enough.

"Fiyero, I'm rather tired. I would like to go home," she said, rising from the pub table.

"Stay for just one more drink?" he begged, but she was already at the door.

Exiting their carriage, she didn't even bother to wave goodbye to the Winkie. As she walked through the quad toward her dormitory, she felt exhausted and now an uncomfortable boil bubbled in her stomach.

She hadn't expected it. The hurt in Elphaba's face when she said they weren't friends. She was being honest. They weren't. Pfannee and Shenshen were friends, and she never laid her head on their laps, or wrote them love poems, or dreamt about hugging them until they screamed, and she certainly never touched them in public, not the way she did Elphaba. No, Elphaba wasn't a friend—she skipped that step entirely and graduated straight to obsession.

It had started the night her grandfather died. The news came to her in Horrible Morrible's office. Galinda dropped the receiver before she could set it back on the hook switch. She didn't remember how she left Morrible's office. The next thing she knew she was pulling her grandfather's book from her nightstand drawer and hiding away on a staircase in Krest's Hall, where their soiree was scheduled. She didn't have the heart to attend. What did Shiz mean without her grandfather? He was the only person who supported Galinda's intellectual pursuits. He said she was clever. He said she had what it takes. He said she could learn to build all those magnificent churches she painted. And the stupidest thing was—Galinda believed him. But when she got to Shiz, no one thought like her grandfather. Morrible laughed when she said she wanted to major in architecture. The old badger said architecture was for men. No proper women studied it. She said it so loud, the male students nearby pointed at her and snickered. Galinda wanted to run and hide but Horrible Morrible wasn't finished. She said sorcery was a creative art suited for women. Galinda could major in that if she wanted. Galinda agreed, but she had no aptitude for magic. Her friends laughed as she tried to manage her spells. So much laughter. Dr. Dillamond laughed when she misunderstood his questions. Her classmates laughed when the old Goat butchered her name. And even her green roommate laughed when she tried to explain to Shenshen the psychological effects of pink. No one cared about her interests or her desires. That Galinda wasn't interesting to anyone. So she tried to become interesting to someone, but being adulterous to her own heart, she kept missing the mark, satisfying neither herself nor anyone else.

Elphaba was different. Studying came easy to Elphaba. Dr. Dillamond had taken her right under his hoove, despite her sex. Elphaba didn't have to think about other people's opinions. She did as she liked. Oz be damned. She probably didn't even worry about marriage. It was infuriating. Galinda picked fights, tried to make Elphaba feel ugly and unfashionable in her grey worn-out dresses. But Elphaba didn't shrink, didn't cry. She hardly even noticed Galinda at all. Finding herself cruel and petty in her insults, Galinda decided to ignore Elphaba completely.

Given their (non) relationship, she was more than a little surprised when Elphaba found her that night and sat beside her instead of avoiding her as usual. Most likely Elphaba had done it to her annoy her. But that's just what Galinda had needed. Somebody quiet and warm beside her. Someone quiet and warm to make her feel that she wasn't all alone, when she had lost the one person who had ever seen her as she wanted to be seen.

The next soiree Elphaba returned. Galinda felt oddly giddy. She sat beside her. Again and again. And that's when she noticed it. Elphaba staring at her from the corner of her eye. Staring at her exposed thigh. Galinda flushed, but she didn't cover herself. She left herself exposed. Encouraging more than a look. She imagined Elphaba touching her. She imagined feeling something. Something other than missing. But Elphaba didn't touch her. Apparently she wasn't the type to start these things without a clear invitation. So Galinda leaned or rather she rested. She laid her head in Elphaba's lap, but Elphaba still didn't take her cue. Galinda couldn't stop. Not now. Not when she was so close to feeling close. So she drew patterns on Elphaba's leg. Waited for Elphaba to push her off. To ask what the hell she was doing. But Elphaba didn't. She just held her breath. So Galinda kept drawing. Please, Elphaba. Please. She would have gone farther but Fiyero found them and Galinda didn't have any words for it. Nothing to explain her desire. Nothing that could make it good, make it normal, make it right. And she didn't even know what Elphaba felt. How did her roommate think of her? How would she think of her if she knew her darker desires? Would she laugh? Galinda had no choice: she pretended not to desire at all.

But, now arriving at her dorm suite after her long evening with Fiyero, her stomach turning, she wished she would have been herself, just once. She opened their bedroom door, prepared for Elphaba to be standing on the other side, hands on her hips, waiting for an apology or an explanation. But the room was dark, Elphaba was in bed, her back toward her. Relieved, Galinda undressed and hurried into her own bed.

Nothing changed between them: they didn't speak about that night nor any of their other nights. All was fine. At least that's what Galinda thought. Until their next soiree. She went to their staircase and found it empty. She looked through every hall, through every empty room, on the back steps, on the front lawn, even the kitchen, but Elphaba was nowhere to be found. And then Galinda heard it. Elphaba's cackle. Coming from the crowded soiree sitting room. Galinda hurried over to find a sight that felt like a cannonball to her gut. Amidst all the students, teachers, and a harpist by the window was her roommate chatting in a corner by the fire with Boq and Fiyero, the Winkie's arm wrapped around her shoulder. She never knew what their evenings meant to Elphaba. But she never imagined they meant nothing at all. She was torn between wanting to kick Fiyero in his shins or have a good cry in her room. She would have done the latter if Pfannee and Shenshen hadn't come behind her.

"Oh, Galinda isn't he dashing?" Shenshen whispered in her ear.

"But what is he doing with _her_?" Pfannee asked on her other side.

"We can't let him go to waste," Shenshen said.

The girls pulled Galinda toward her roommate at nightmare speed.

. . .

Elphaba winced when Fiyero did it in the soiree sitting room. No one touched her. No one except her roommate. Everyone cringed if she got too close as if they were afraid it might spread. She considered ducking out of his arm, but she wanted to forget her roommate, forget that poem, those caresses, that strawberry shampoo, those warm fingered patterns, and most of all Galinda disavowing any relation to her. So she remained silent when Fiyero—who had only just introduced himself to her a minute before—pulled her close and leaned on her while he joked. She made herself laugh. Tried it out. Is this what it felt like to be pretty? Is this why her roommate didn't come home until well past midnight last week? Had Fiyero held Galinda like this? Had he nuzzled her hair? Had he kissed the top of her head? Had his hands…she felt a heat rise in her so strong she imagined socking Fiyero in the throat.

"Fiyero!" she heard that horribly cloying voice say.

"My dearest Pfannee," he said and spun them both around.

The Munchkin girl wasn't alone. Elphaba came face to face with Galinda. Elphaba couldn't hear what was being said. Galinda's eyes were invulnerable. They were glassy. They were smiling. They were fixed. On Fiyero's fingers pushing into her arm. Their smile was fading. Say it Galinda. Say something. Elphaba was determined not to be easy. Determined not to be stuck in dark corners. If the blonde had any feelings for her she would have to move past shame. She would have to tell her. Or at the very least talk to her in public. She would never be dismissed like that again. So when Galinda ignored Elphaba, prying her eyes away to nod and smile at Pfannee, Elphaba did it. She rested her hand on Fiyero's chest, rubbing in a circle. Galinda's eyes hawked back to her hand. Her bottom lip falling, shaking. Elphaba's hand slid away but Fiyero caught it. He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it. Elphaba flinched. She had forgotten he was there. Like a prop on a stage, he wasn't supposed to move on his own. She withdrew her hand from his and planned on unraveling herself from his embrace when his finger traced the line of her chin, slowly, willfully. He leaned in like he meant to kiss her. Elphaba shuddered. She turned away, out of his grasp, to see: Pfannee open-mouthed, Shenshen bug-eyed, and Galinda gone. She was across the room, walking out the door.

Elphaba hurried after her, but before she could exit, Horrible Morrible entered.

"Just where do you think you're going, young lady? The soiree's just starting," she said, escorting Elphaba back inside the sitting room. Elphaba chose a narrow high-backed chair where Fiyero couldn't join her and endured two whole hours of Morrible's dreadful droning, counting the minutes. The clapping hadn't even finished before Elphaba dashed out. She headed back toward their dorm, crossing the quad when she heard a light sniffling from a bench nearby.

"What are you doing out here? You'll catch a cold," Elphaba said, as if such spoken niceties were normal for them.

The blonde jumped. She stood and looked around as if checking to see if Fiyero or the other girls were nearby. Was she still embarrassed to be seen with her?

"I'm alone. You can speak to me," Elphaba said and rolled her eyes.

Galinda wiped her cheek and asked, "Are you dating him?"

"Why? Is it so hard for that blissful, blonde brain of yours to comprehend that someone like him could actually want me? That he would choose me over you?"

"I don't think it was much of a choice. I turned Fiyero down last week," Galinda said, fully on the defense.

"Then you don't mind if we date?" Elphaba asked.

"Be my guest," Galinda said, turning her nose up and flicking her wrist in the air.

"You won't miss my poster-perfect cheekbones?"

Galinda's head whooshed back, her eyes wide.

"You went through my things!" she accused.

"Only the things you _threw_ at me."

"My Oz! I've never thrown anything—" Galinda's voice died with comprehension.

 _"_ Nothing to say for yourself?"

Surely the girl who penned that poem could do better than this.

"You're just as much to blame as I am!" Galinda snapped.

" _Me_?!" Gone was any sense of pity for Galinda. How dare Galinda blame her for her own cowardice?

"If you hadn't sat there that night, it never would have happened!" the blonde said.

What did Galinda expect? That Elphaba would run and hide at the sound of every footstep?

"How was I to know Fiyero would find us?"

"What? No, not that night—the first one. I would have never felt anything for you if you hadn't been so stubborn! But if my actions embarrassed you, rest assured I don't plan to continue," Galinda said.

For Lurline's sake! The girl could be dense.

"Honestly, Galinda, you practically molest me every soiree—"

Galinda gasped.

"Molest you?! Well, I never—"

"And yet each week I return! But what does any of that mean when you can't even speak to me? You can't even say we're friends. You can't even bear to be seen with me in public! Well, I'm done meeting you in private. I'm done with your dark corners, your embarrassment, your shame!" she said and turned on her heel to catch Fiyero running toward her.

"Elphaba, there you are! The fellows and I are going to the Philosophy Club, won't you join us?"

She had no desire to waste any more of her evening. About to reject Fiyero, she felt a hand slip into hers.

"She's busy," Galinda whispered, coming to stand beside her.

Elphaba couldn't move. It was only a slight clutch, only little warm fingers sliding between her own, but the sensation took her breath away.

"Busy?" he asked.

"Yes, I have plans to do Elphaba's hair."

"Do her hair?"

"Oh, if you must know, Fiyero. I plan to strip Elphaba out of these clothes and touch her in places that you'll never see."

Fiyero choked on his spit. Elphaba's face blistered with a blush that shot from her chest to the crown of her head. Pulling Galinda away, she hurried off, no longer able to look at the baffled man in front of them.

"I take it back," Elphaba said.

"You're not done with me?" Galinda asked.

"There _are_ some things I prefer to do in private."

* * *

 _Second Author's Note_ : If you have a gelphie prompt you want me to write a short for, please feel free to let me know in the review section. If possible, I would like to try to do one every six months alongside the longer updates for Her Lady's Maid.

*The poem was a remix of one by Anne Sexton.


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